| Chapter 1 - Tuesday, October 17, 1989 |
| I hadn't seen Josh for two years. We used to live side by side in San Jose. I remember how he used to show up outside my bedroom window -- in secret, because his father was really strict about being out after 8pm. We never really understood this, but we worked around it. I usually would be over at his place but when I would have chores to do he would always pop up out of nowhere and scare the hell out of me. When I got a little golden retriever puppy, Josh would always bring his leftovers from lunch or supper and fed them, bite by bite, to the pup. After the pup finished he would fall asleep on Josh's lap, occasionally giving off contented little burps. Every single time the pup burped, we would laugh and the pup would get agitated by Josh's jiggly stomach from laughing and move to the floor and fall right back asleep again. From then on, that dog was already Josh's friend for life and so was I. Josh in my memory was a skinny, dark-spiked haired, animal-loving, happy-go-lucky kinda guy. Now I was 19 and he was 24 years old. The moment he stepped out of the car, I saw a different Josh. Longer hair sprouted from his head with blond highlights. A strip of hair on his chin was now noticeable has we walked closer. A goatee! He actually grew a goatee! I couldn't believe how much he changed. "Hi Justin." "Hi Josh." We hugged. It was a leaning forward, barely touching hug. When my head was next to his, I could smell his musky scent and took in a large sniff. I quickly stumbled back. 'What the hell was that Justin?' I shook my head and quickly looked up as he began to speak. "God, you've like totally changed!" he said. "I've changed? You look so --" "Your hair's gone!" "Oh yeah, I decided to shave the curls. I was getting tired of them always being a pain." "I thought you liked the curls." How could he forget that I hated my hair? We had been friends all our lives -- until our world cracked apart. My parents had divorced, and I moved in with my mother to Loma Prieta, halfway between San Jose and Santa Cruz -- to an old cabin where I have to share a room with my brother. Josh had moved to Ponoma with his parents. We tried writing letters, but they came less and less often. Josh's last letter two years ago had said: I think of out life together in San Jose as a time when everything was simple and happy. I thought we would be together forever. Now I know that nothing is simple and nothing lasts forever. No matter how much I missed you. This was a new Josh. I didn't know how to talk to him. He looked great. He wasn't the skinny boy I knew before. Now you could see the sign of muscles beneath his black t-shirt that he wore. I just wanted to run my hand down his arm and feel the strong muscle. 'Woah Justin, back up here. What am I thinking!' I thought shaking my head to clear it. People change I told myself. Lives change. Kids grow. Parent divorce. Families move. Nothing is permanent. As I was standing awkwardly outside with Josh, wondering what to say, Greta came out of the house, barking. Greta was the little golden retriever puppy whom Josh had befriended with leftovers from home, years ago. Now Greta was a 90 pound dog, who was lazy as a boulder, but she had made herself come out and woof at this stranger. "Is that Greta?" Josh asked. "She's totally huge. Why is she barking? Doesn't she recognize me?" Obviously Greta definitely didn't recognize Josh. I'm not sure I would have either, if I hadn't been expecting him. "Greta! It's me. Like -- remember?" Woof woof. Josh reached into his pocket of his jacket and pulled out a half eaten snickers bar. Greta stopped barking and sat watching Josh unwrap the snickers bar. Josh held it out and gently with her front teeth, Greta removed the snickers bar from Josh's hand. Then with a big gulp, it was gone. And once again, Greta was Josh's friend for life. I was relieved. This was one part of Josh that hadn't changed. I hoped we had some chocolate in the kitchen. Maybe if I gave some to Josh, he would be my friend for life once again also. My father had gone into the house. Now he returned to the car. "Got to go," he said. "Wish me luck. Go, Giants!" With a squeal of the tires, he launched out of the driveway. My father was a diehard Giants fan. As was Josh's mom. That was why Josh and I were finally back together again for a couple of nights: The Giants were in the World Series. My father plus Josh's mother were all going to the game at Candlestick Park. Josh and his mom had flown up from Pomona. Josh came to visit with me since we haven't seen each other for two years. Josh would stay with me and help baby-sit my little brother, Jon, until the rents got home, which with the traffic of the game, would be very late. As my father drove away, Jon came out of the house. "Is that little Jon?" Josh exclaimed. When Josh last seen him, he was two years old. "What's that on your chin?" Jon asked. "Goatee." "Oh is that what it is." Jon is living proof of genetic mutation. There is no other explanation. Jon was the reason my father gave our perfectly good 19-inch Sony Trinitron to the Salvation Army. Jon liked cop shows and war movies. Jon played violent video games (in other kids' houses.) Jon kept asking my dad to take him to the junkyard to see all the smashed cars. He also said his second grade teacher was made of reconstructed liposuction. Jon called her Mrs. Lipo. Jon was precocious, but he gave me the creeps. Sometimes in the middle of the night, I would see Jon get up and watch forbidden, bloody TV shows with the sound off. What's spooky is that it seemed to relax him. One night, my dad caught him. Dad was a medic in Vietnam. He tried to make Jon understand that blood and gore were real and that it happened to real people and that is was horrible. He told Jon of a man who had his arm blown off. And Jon said, "Cool." Dad told Jon about bodies burned like overdone marshmallow and about body bags and helicopter evacuations under fire. And Jon said, "Wow." That was when dad decided to get rid of the television. Jon pretended that it didn't bother him. I knew better than that though. I would hear him thrashing around in bed at night when he used to get up and watch the bloody shows to calm him down. For me it was weird for a while. I found other things to do with my time. I found myself getting into music a lot and writing down my thoughts and feelings and working them into songs. The only time I missed television was when my friends would go on about a TV show they seen or laugh about the stupid commercials that just came out. It was more of a sacrifice for my dad though. Now he wouldn't be able to watch all the Giant games. Though, he started getting tickets and all was well. I was just stuck with the baby-sitting. And now Josh. At least if felt like I was his sitter. Once in the house I went straight to the kitchen. Alas no chocolate. Josh was moping. "I've got the feeling that there is like totally nothing to do here." "Like totally." Jon replied. "Don't make fun of the way I talk." "Like okay." "Shut up." "Totally." But he didn't shut up. Instead he started singing a song for him. He always had songs and they aren't your normal songs either. This one went with the tune of "Joy to the World." "Joy to the world! Josh is dead They barbecued his head. Oh, where is his body? They flushed it down the potty. And round and round it goes, And round and round it goes, And rou-ound, and rou-ow-ound, and round it goes." "That is totally disgusting." Josh said. Jon turned to me and continued singing: "Joy to the world! There goes Justin's jaw. They sliced it with a chainsaw. Oh, see his great big bottom-us, Looks like a hippopotamus. And bouncy bounce it goes, And bouncy bounce it goes..." I tried to ignore him. I knew I don't have a big bottom. I walked into the room I share with my brother. In the room Josh could see a bunk bed with the top neatly made -- mine -- and the bottom -- Jon's -- looking as if it were in a dog fight. "Where am I going to sleep?" asked Josh. "I thought we'd share my bed." We used to share beds before. But then we were both smaller and had our own rooms, so there wasn't a pesky little brother. This whole visit was turning into a disaster. Josh stood at the window staring moodily out at the view of the backyard over the mountains. Jon was playing outside packing dirt into a pile making a volcano. He then would stand and stomp his foot so the dirt would slide down the sides like it was erupting while singing his horrible song. He then started packing dirt again when he ran his hands over something sharp -- a piece of glass had gotten mixed in the dirt. "Ow!" he held up his palm. "I'm bleeding." It wasn't a crisis, but it was a cut. Before I could move to check it out, Josh crossed the room and found the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. I few seconds later, he returned with a washcloth, a towel and a Band-Aid. Without a word he cleaned Jon's hand and placed the Band-Aid over the cut. This was the old Josh also. He used to bandage me when I would get little cuts or scrapes from climbing trees all the time. He never let me go without cleaning them for me. I thought he would probably end up being a doctor or something. "Thank you." Jon said sheepishly. "You're totally welcome." Josh said sincerely. Then turned back to the window. Jon looked at the Band-Aid on his palm. He asked, "Has the game started yet?" I looked at the clock on the wall: 5:02 P.M. "No not yet Jon." Suddenly Greta whined. She'd been lying between Josh's feet sleeping. On a hot day like today she could sleep from sunrise to sunset. With the whine, Greta stood and slipped out from under Josh, whimpered at us once, then cocked her head. I had a feeling she was trying to tell us something. "What is it Greta?" She seemed to be in pain. She flickered her ears and shook her head as if reacting to some sound. I listened but couldn�t hear anything. Greta whined again and trotted across the floor with her tail between her legs out the door. I watched from the doorway as she disappeared behind some blackberry bushes. "She hurt?" Jon asked. "Maybe a bee stung her." I said. We both knew lazy Greta. We knew that little short of dynamite would move that dog out of the house on a hot day. Especially since she trotted out, not walked. "Maybe she had a nightmare." Jon said. "Maybe she dreamed she was drowning in a burning vat of vulture vomit." I stared down at Jon -- the sweet blue eyes, the cow-licked hair. I said, "She's never heard of vulture vomit." "Maybe she knows. Dogs know lots of things without anybody teaching them. It's instink." "Instinct." "Right." So there was our warning. Greta knew something was wrong, we just didn't know what. Maybe it was just indigestion from the snickers bar Josh gave her. Josh was still inside starring out the window. Unknown to us, miles beneath our feet, the city of Los Angeles was about to move six feet closer to the city of San Francisco. I stepped out of the house with Jon following behind me. We moved toward where Greta had disappeared. We had just reached the bush when it began. |